A white apron was tied round his waist, and into the apron was thrust a short thick truncheon, which looked very much like a rolling-pin. The asylum was approached by a broad gravel walk, leading through a garden edged on either side by a stone balustrade, and shaded by tufted trees. ‘Gérard, do not go,’ she cried, breathless. Gerald raised a questioning eyebrow. Sheppard.
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